


Through the Grapevine

by Kingkiwi



Series: Writers [1]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Close-knit Community, Embarrassment, Fluff and Angst, Graffiti, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slightcriminal!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:04:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4407575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingkiwi/pseuds/Kingkiwi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no way that walking up to a stranger in a dirty alley in the middle of the right could be a terrible idea. Fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Grapevine

Namjoon dragged the cement block over, giving it a kick to make sure it wouldn’t wobble too badly. Hefting the paint roller in one hand, he stepped on the block and rose to his tiptoes, trying to reach the top of the graffiti with his roller. There was a glistening trail of white paint to his left, the brick painted over and still drying. 

The pavement in the alley was dark and damp. Wet blacktop glittered in the orange glow of the streetlights. Slices of brick lit up white as the occasional car sped by. It was 3:00 in the morning, so cars were few and far between and foot traffic was non-existent. That was doubly so because the apartment building Namjoon was painting was situated in a part of town where rusting cars sat abandoned for weeks and women rushed down the sidewalk, purses clutched close, heads down and keys held tightly between their fingers.

By the time he was done covering the rest of the graffiti, the first part would be dry and Namjoon could get started. A sizeable bag of spray paint cans waited beside his feet, top flipped open. He had quite the masterpiece in mind and if everything went to plan, the whole piece would be finished before the sun hit the horizon.

It’s not like anything under the white paint would be missed. There had been a gorgeous green and gold dragon on the original brick, but it was almost completely obscured by unintelligible scribbles in black spray paint, a giant dick, and multi-colored profanities. If rumor had it right, the dragon was a GD original. Only stupid kids or morons with inflated egos would paint over a GD piece. As it stood, there was nothing salvageable, so Namjoon was going to start fresh and hopefully create something worthy of the spot GD had chosen. 

Another diagonal stripe obliterated the third “fuck,” and Namjoon took a few steps back to get a better look. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but the painted section was probably going to need a second coat. Particularly the top, which just so happened to be the tip of the dick. 

Namjoon was about to slather his roller up in some more paint when he caught the sound of quiet footsteps. His first instinct was to ditch the paint roller, grab the bag of spray paint, and run. Mid-motion, he realized he wasn't really doing anything illegal yet. As long as it wasn't a cop, he could probably lie his way out of trouble. If it was a drunk then he wouldn’t have to do anything at all. Squinting, Namjoon peered down the alleyway. 

A long shadow bounced over the concrete while the person casting it remained unseen. Who the hell was out lurking in alleys at three o'clock in the morning anyway? Only criminals and cops. Well, yeah, Namjoon fell into the first category, but he wasn't a gangster or a thief or something actually dangerous. He was just an artist who liked slightly bigger canvases...owned by other people. If the person approaching were another criminal, hopefully he or she would respect their criminal brotherhood or whatever and wouldn't cause any trouble. 

He returned to the brick, absently using his paint roller while keeping an eye on the owner of the footsteps. Hm. It looked to be a man, young, or a woman with short hair. He couldn't see much, but it looked like the person was wearing all black, a button up, and a tie. Probably not a robber and only a gangster if they'd classed up recently. Also, definitely not a cop, which was even better. 

"Oh, hey!" the man, he could tell by the voice, called when he got closer. 

Okay. People around here didn't really greet each other, especially in a dark alley. Either this guy was naive or he wanted to get shanked by a coke fiend. 

"Wow!" he said, sounding impressed and stepping up next to Namjoon, who was giving him a righteous side eye. The man beamed. "You're cleaning up graffiti? That's so nice of you! Especially at this hour."

Namjoon couldn't help a slow grin. “Yeah. Couldn't sleep, you know?" he turned slightly, making sure that the bag of spray paint remained covered in shadow. 

"I admire that! Trying to clean this place up a little bit at a time. Do you need a hand?" the man asked, puppy-eager. 

Laughing would be a bad choice, but Namjoon almost lost it all the same. "Sure. Here's a brush." He'd been using it to paint the roller since sticking the whole thing in the paint can, while amusing, would not be effective. After pointing to the far side that he hadn’t gotten to yet, they both began to paint. Namjoon stepped on the cement block again and wondered how long this guy would stick around. He had some other painting to do that didn’t need an audience.

"I'm Seokjin," the man said, swiping a stripe down one side with a steady hand. 

Namjoon awkwardly sloshed his roller into the paint can. "What's a nice guy like you doing in a place like this at this hour?"

Seeing his struggle, Seokjin came over, wetted his brush, and loaded up the roller, getting a quick thanks in return. “Oh, I bartend up at the Purple Lizard. We close at two, but clean up and everything takes about an hour. This is the quickest way home.” He gestured up. “I live in this building.”

Well, that could be bad. He might recognize Namjoon around since he lived in the adjacent apartments. “Ah,” he replied. “Makes sense. I wasn’t sure if you were a criminal or something.” And wasn’t that a little hypocritical. 

Seokjin just smiled, reassuring. “Of course not.”

They chatted on and off as they painted. Seokjin was 24, living on his own, and working full time at the Purple Lizard. He also had a younger brother, loved Chinese food, and volunteered at the Community Center, often tutoring kids in math and history. 

Namjoon tried not to talk about himself too much, but ended up spilling because of Seokjin’s kind enthusiasm. He actually liked cheeseburgers better, watched Netflix all hours of the night, and worked two jobs to pay rent.

By the time they were squaring off the edges of the whitewashed rectangle, Namjoon felt like he knew Seokjin. They were comfortable enough for Namjoon to laugh at the paint speckling the other man’s forehead and try to help him scrub it away.

Usually covering the old graffiti to create a blank canvas was a pain in the ass, something he rushed through when it was necessary. A small part of him was always worried that one of the original writers would walk by, see him covering their paint, and try to start something. In that respect, well, that and the cops, even covering graffiti without laying down new spray paint was a stressful, pulse-pounding job. He was constantly looking over his shoulder. With Seokjin, though, it was different. 

Talking to him, and he had an unexpectedly sassy side underneath all that good citizenship, was the most fun Namjoon had had in a decent while. In fact, he almost forgot that he was supposed to be hurrying in order to finish the entire piece by morning. It was already going on five, and there was no way an hour would be enough. 

“Alright,” Namjoon said, screwing the lid back on the white paint. “I’m beat and it’s all covered.” He dropped the paint roller into a plastic bag for that purpose and held it open for Seokjin’s paintbrush. He tied the bag off and slung it over his shoulder. It was kind of awkward now and Seokjin was looking at him.

“…thanks for the help,” he finally said, at a loss. “I know how it sucks to do stuff after work when you just want to sit down and relax.” The spray paint bag was still in shadow. If he couldn’t get rid of Seokjin, he’d have to double back later or the whole thing would be gone by the time he left for work. Pretty much anything that wasn’t nailed down had a good chance of being stolen. 

“Oh, no problem at all,” Seokjin replied, rubbing at his forehead. “It’s just nice to see this place cleaned up.”

“Yeah…” Seokjin better enjoy it because it wasn’t going to last long. Hell, even if Namjoon didn’t paint it, the newly blank space would be covered before the week was out. Taggers wouldn’t be able to resist such a fresh wall.

Namjoon turned. “Maybe I’ll catch you later.”

“Absolutely!” Seokjin beamed, heading around the corner of building. “Go get some sleep.” 

In another second he was gone, leaving Namjoon in the damp alley, the smell of paint thick in the air. It didn’t feel good to lie to Seokjin. Damn, the man was so nice and looked so happy, but Namjoon wasn’t about to stop painting because some cute guy wanted to help him paint a wall.

He sighed and slung the heavy bag of paint cans over his head. It was bulky and clinked awkwardly, especially with the paint roller and brush shoved in there. Morning sunlight was starting to seep between the apartment buildings. God, he had to be at work in three hours. Namjoon kicked at a weed as he shuffled from the alley. Five flights of stairs before he could sleep, then a full day of work and another late night to paint his piece. He was going to crash so hard when it was done. So hard. 

Namjoon repositioned his bag and started up the first flight of stairs. Only four more to go.

***

Though he didn’t see Seokjin on the way to or from work, he did catch a glimpse of the infamous old Mr. Lee, his next-door neighbor, who, according to Seokjin, yelled at children and collected everything cat-related. Namjoon couldn’t decide if he was excited or relieved. He honestly did want to hang out with Seokjin again, but the way they’d met last night left a bad taste in his mouth. Here Seokjin was, all thinking he was a good person. But wasn’t it his own fault for weirdly assuming that a guy dressed in all black, skulking in an alley with a paint can in the middle of the night was doing anything other than committing a crime? Because seriously, how naïve can you be? There are limits on how much faith you can put in strangers, but it looked like Seokjin didn’t get the memo. 

Of course, Namjoon played along, but what else was he supposed to do? Confess to criminal intent? Yeah, not likely.

He yanked his other uniform shirt over his head and flipped the collar out. Why the hell was he even worrying about this? It was a coincidence that they ran into each other and he wouldn’t have to worry about it happening again. Hell, Seokjin probably forgot, suddenly developed common sense, or thought it was all a dream.

He slapped his cap on his head, made sure his work gloves were in his back pocket and headed out for his second job. He had no more time to waste thinking about it.

By the time Namjoon got home it was ten o’clock at night, he was starving, and his legs felt like jelly. He worked for a moving company and due to some equipment malfunction he had to haul furniture up four stories for ten hours. It was almost bad enough for him to call a rain check on the writing, wait for tomorrow night when he wouldn’t fall asleep standing up. On the other hand, if he waited, he was almost guaranteed to have to paint over the spot again, which was a pain in the ass and cost him valuable time. 

Even after a four-hour nap plus a food break, it still took way too much effort to change into his paint gear, grab his bag, and trip down the echoing stairwell. It was cool out and the sidewalks were empty. After one last furtive glance, he slid into the alley.

The wall was mostly untouched. There was a skull and some scribbles off to the right, but he didn’t recognize any of it so it was probably just kids screwing around. A guy he knew had messed with gang tags and well, it wasn’t something Namjoon was going to touch with a ten-foot pole. Anyway, the paint would cover well, so he’d just spray right over it.

Namjoon stood back and examined the wall, mentally composing his piece on the rough surface. Smirking, he dropped his bag by the wall and pulled out a can of black and neon green, shaking one in each hand. Time to get this party started. 

Painting was a particular level of stressful because of the uncertainty that was a part of keeping constant watch over your shoulder, but it also put him into a calm headspace. He found it soothing: his thoughts were consumed with curves and colors, with balance, the smell of paint and the white noise of the spray can. He didn’t really see it as destruction of property, but as creation. It had been hard to paint over the last visible bits of GD’s dragon, but that was the nature of graffiti. It wasn’t forever, but that just meant that Namjoon would never run out of canvas. 

Three hours later it was almost 5:00 a.m. Namjoon was covered in a fine mist of color, but he was almost finished. One more coat to brighten the highlights and a final check to catch mistakes were the only things left before he could get some much-needed sleep. 

He’d half-expected to see Seokjin wander into the alley around three, smiling in his bartender get up, but he never did. Namjoon pushed away his disappointment. It’s not like Seokjin would be happy to see Namjoon defacing his apartment building, no matter how proud he was of his art or how much he wanted to impress Seokjin. It wasn’t gonna happen. 

Namjoon slipped the white can from his bag and gave it a vigorous shake, adjusting his safety glasses with the other hand. Nothing like accidentally getting paint in your eyeball. The “M” was first, followed by a touch-up of the “O” and “N” and ever-spiraling thoughts about Seokjin. He easily fell back into rhythm; letting his hands work in a smooth glide without much input from his brain. 

Which is probably why the car stopping at the mouth of the alley didn’t register. Nor did the approaching footsteps.

“Pretty picture you got going there.”

Namjoon’s steady hand meant he didn’t jerk back and make a white streak, but his head did whip to the side. 

“…hello, Officer.”

He dropped the can and slowly raised his hands.

And that’s how Namjoon ended up in a holding cell instead of his comfortable bed, sleeping with his head against the cement wall.

***

He was woken some hours later by the door unlocking with a loud click and swinging open. A man with greying hair was led inside, while the other officer called Namjoon’s name and gestured for him to follow. 

He was led back through processing and eventually directed to sit in a chair while the officer wandered off somewhere. Namjoon wasn’t stupid enough to take off. Not only would it be a short trip because he was in the middle of a police station, but it looked like they might be getting ready to release him.

He waited another ten minutes, hands clasped in his lap. Seokjin was in his thoughts, as were the consequences of getting arrested for the second time. Unfortunately, Namjoon had a prior conviction for graffiti when he was sixteen and stupid.

Well, here he was, 23 and arrested again, so apparently the stupid hadn’t left. 

Finally, just when Namjoon was beginning to think he’d been forgotten, the officer returned with a sheaf of papers. “Looks like your bail’s been paid. You’re free to go. You’ll get your court date and other papers in the mail.” He pointed Namjoon to a counter where a clerk was sitting behind a thick plastic window.

“Personal effects for Kim Namjoon: one wallet, 37 cents in change, one gum wrapper, one pair of safety glasses, a black beanie, a pair of gloves, and one set of keys,” the clerk droned. “Is that everything?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon grunted, slipping his gear on and stuffing the rest in his pockets. “Thanks.”

He knew his way to the front doors and was allowed to leave unhindered. The real question here was who the hell paid his bail. Namjoon had no family in town, no friends close enough that would pay his bail at the drop of a hat, especially without getting a call. He didn’t want to question it, really. It would be nice if some random rich family bailing out their dumbass son for stealing a car or underage drinking paid for everyone’s bail, like buying a round of shots at the bar. Even Namjoon knew things like that didn’t just happen, especially not to him. Nothing is free. If it wasn’t a rich benefactor, his bailer could be someone much worse, the kind of people who “helped,” but you owed them. That was worse than jail.

The first step out of the station made him feel alive. The sun was bright and the air hadn’t heated up yet. At least it wouldn’t be too bad for the walk home. The walk wasn’t that long, so… aw, shit. He was probably multiple hours late for work without calling in. “Fuck,” Namjoon muttered, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“Hey.” A quiet voice came from the benches in front of the building, startling Namjoon for the second time in a handful of hours. 

Seokjin was sitting there in the early morning light, leaned forward elbows on his knees. He was looking up at Namjoon, face neutral. 

“Fuck,” Namjoon repeated numbly, collapsing onto the adjacent bench. He couldn’t be too close to Seokjin right now, not with the feelings of utter shame and disappointment cluttering his chest. As stupid as it was, he felt like he’d failed Seokjin and his naïve good faith. Clearly, he didn’t deserve it. 

The other man just stared at him, expression not judgmental, but something else. Expectant? Patient? Namjoon had always been shit at reading other people. What the hell was he even doing here anyway? How did he know about the arrest?

Namjoon was just about to ask those very questions when everything clicked into place. 

“Oh my God.”

And here he’d been thinking that life couldn’t get any more humiliating. Namjoon could feel his face burn red and he dropped it into his hands. “You bailed me out.” The words were muffled. It wasn’t a question. 

Warm fingers curled around his shoulder and Namjoon was startled again. Seokjin was sitting beside him on the bench, smiling. “I did. Do you need a ride home?”

Namjoon’s gut instinct was to say, “Yes, please,” but he willfully ignored it and kept silent, thinking. “Can I borrow your phone?” he asked instead. 

“Of course!” Seokjin said, fumbling it from his pocket.

The first order of business was to call his first job, grovel and apologize for his no-call no-show, and promise his boss he’d come in tomorrow to explain. Second, he needed to call his moving job and tell them he couldn’t come in and apologize for the extremely short notice. 

Seokjin watched him the entire time, hardly blinking at Namjoon’s, “I’m so, so, sorry. I promise it won’t happen again,” and “Of course, sir. Thank you, sir.” He still had both of his jobs by the end of that shameful ordeal, so that was something.

Namjoon wiped the face print from he screen and handed the phone back. “Thanks.”

What he really wanted to ask was, “Why?” but he was kind of afraid of the answer.

“Seriously, you should get home.” Seokjin pressed a little, now looking concerned.

The urge to ignore Seokjin’s good intentions and strike off on his own, probably to do something else stupid, was strong. He’d kind of ruined everything with him. Maybe Seokjin had bailed him out to laugh at him or express his disappointment. But god, what a dumb way to waste what had to be at least $150. That’s right. “How much was it?” he asked.

Seokjin had the grace to not even pretend to be confused. “Really, Namjoon, we should get out of here and then we can talk.”

Namjoon’s rebelliousness fired up, resisting being babied or ordered around. It fled just as quickly when faced with Seokjin’s sincerity and how tired the whole experience made him. He’d already caused enough trouble, not to mention it was unfair to assign motivations and feelings to Seokjin with no input from the man himself. “Yeah,” he muttered, pressing thumbs into his closed eyes. “We should go.”

Seokjin’s hand brushed his arm, but there was no attempt to force him from his seat. He was grateful for that. Through his weariness and exhaustion, Namjoon would likely still throw a punch at anyone who tried to manhandle him. He felt it when Seokjin stood and it only took him a few seconds to follow, making his way to a junky Camry alongside Seokjin, feeling like a failure all the while. 

***

Namjoon wasn’t surprised when they walked up to Seokjin’s building instead of his own. The alley was right there, the wall thrown in shadow. He didn’t want to look, see that his piece had already been painted over. He didn’t get the chance anyway as Seokjin held the door and ushered him inside. 

Seokjin lived on the second floor in a one bedroom apartment that was just as tidy as Namjoon expected. When the door closed behind them, he disappeared to put the teakettle on, leaving Namjoon to flop on the couch. 

The sound of the kettle’s whistle and the clinking of dishware were soothing. Namjoon was used to living alone and often put music on when the silence got to be too much. He was already half asleep by the time Seokjin reappeared with two mugs. He settled on the far side of the couch and took a careful sip. “Green tea.” He grimaced. “Be careful, it’s hot.”

Namjoon smiled and took a small drink of tea anyway. Yeah, it was really hot. His tongue was tingling, and not in a good way. He had to assume it tasted good because it scorched its way past his tongue and down his throat, making it impossible to tell.

“I told you it was hot,” Seokjin admonished, setting his mug down.

Namjoon just shook his head and blew on the tea. “How much?”

Seokjin sighed. It didn’t sound put-upon or regretful, but reluctant. “$300.”

Having the foresight to avoid drinking tea at that exact moment, Namjoon didn’t choke. Instead, his jaw dropped. “I, I can’t believe you paid that!” He hurriedly shoved his mug onto the table, sloshing it onto his hand and barely feeling the sting. He yanked his wallet from his pants and pulled out a wad of cash. “I only have $30 on me, but I swear I’ll pay it all back. I get paid next Friday and I might not have it all then, but I can put in overtime.”

Seokjin’s hand folded over Namjoon’s, cash and all, and pushed it back. “Namjoon, I don’t want your money.” He looked deadly serious. “I didn’t bring you over here so you could pay me.”

Namjoon swallowed thickly. So he was one of those guys, the people who collected favors. He barely controlled a shudder. He didn’t want to ask what Seokjin wanted. It seemed better not to provoke him. Maybe Seokjin would leave it for the night, call Namjoon later when his head wasn’t so all over the place.

More of this thought process must have showed than he thought because Seokjin was leaning back, face dark and trained on Namjoon. He set down his tea. “Namjoon, I think you misunderstand.”

What was there to misunderstand? This wasn’t a get out of jail free card. 

“I don’t want money from you and I don’t want anything else, either,” Seokjin insisted. “I didn’t buy you,” he voice was thick with disgust, “and you owe me nothing.”

The protest was at Namjoon’s lips, but Seokjin cut him off before he could speak. “I’m serious. You are not indebted to me in any way, shape, or form.” He leaned forward, position mirroring that of his wait outside the police station. “Think of it as a gift from a friend.” He smiled that brilliant smile like he really believed it. Like Namjoon should believe it too. 

Had he figured Seokjin wrong? Was his stupidity blinding him to something, someone good?

The tea was something to hold on to and Namjoon picked it up gratefully. The mellow flavor was fortifying even though it stung his burnt tongue. “But you were so happy to paint over the graffiti. ‘Cleaning the place up,’ and all that,” he finally said, slowly. What would Seokjin have to say about that?

“I was,” the man affirmed, but quickly went on to explain. “The old stuff was ugly, just a bunch of curse words and a giant dick. Like really? Are we ten years old?” He shook his head. “Not to mention I find this amazing, super interesting guy in the middle of the night, painting and humming while he’s doing it. I had a ton of fun hanging out with you.”

Okay, Namjoon definitely did not remember that little fact. He didn’t hum. 

“How did you even find out about the…” Namjoon couldn’t bring himself to say ‘arrest,’ as stupid as it was. His mind was still chewing on the fact that Seokjin apparently thought he was amazing for some reason.

“Ah,” Seokjin said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, Mrs. Choi from 216 was woken by her baby just before five this morning and saw the police officer loading someone into the cruiser. She told the Park kid in 320 while taking out the trash. He told the Cho sisters, who told their mom, who knows Mr. Yoo in your building. Miss Hahn, your neighbor, heard about it from Mr. Yoo’s daughter-in-law, then told Mr. Jun that she heard someone leaving your apartment late and hadn’t seen you leave for work at the usual time. Her boyfriend saw the wall and told her about it, and she knows you like to paint. Miss Hahn told all of this to Mr. Jun, who has coffee with Mr. Lee every morning. I always stop by to say hello and Mr. Lee told me, so I went straight to the station, and sure enough, there you were.” He cleared his throat and took a long sip of tea.

Namjoon’s head was reeling. Not only did Seokjin know everyone, but their neighbors gossiped like Russian grandmothers. 

“So let me get this straight,” Namjoon said. 

Seokjin nodded encouragingly. 

“You heard through the grapevine that I was arrested for god knows what and paid almost a month’s rent to bail out a guy you barely know and met in suspicious circumstances. And then you bring him home.” God, it sounded even stupider when Namjoon said it out loud. 

“Well it sounds crazy when you put it like that,” Seokjin protested. “I know you well enough.”

Namjoon couldn’t help but to snort. “I could be a murderer or something.”

“Come on,” Seokjin scoffed. “I said Miss Hahn’s boyfriend told her about the wall. And Mr. Yoo and Miss Hahn vouched for you. I wouldn’t have bailed you out if you were a murderer anyway. I know you’re not dangerous.”

And damn he said that with a lot of conviction. As it stood, Namjoon didn’t really want to argue the point. He wasn’t dangerous and had no intention of changing that any time soon. He did want to call Seokjin a stupid, naïve, overly-trusting, money-wasting moron, but that would be counterproductive and ungrateful.

Seokjin wasn’t done with him yet. “Listen, I know I sound like a crazy idiot, but I trust you. I’ve seen your art. Nobody evil can create beauty like that.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows rose.

The other man’s cheeks turned pink. “I went to take a look this morning.”

That was kind of embarrassing for some reason.

“I actually think both apartments were there. Like, everyone.”

Upgrade that to extremely embarrassing.

“When the city workers came to cover it up Mr. Lee and Mr. Jun wouldn’t let them get by. The workers gave up and left rather than face those two and most of everyone else.”

Namjoon was blown away, so much so that he couldn’t speak. The kindness and support from all his neighbors was unexpected and almost too much. Yeah, he always said hi to Miss Hahn and asked Mr. Yoo about his grandkids, but this was nuts.

“Namjoon,” Seokjin’s eyes were crinkled at the corners. “I have something to show you.”

God, what was Seokjin going to kill him with next?

He followed the man back into the bedroom. Before he could get any crazy ideas, Seokjin grandly gestured toward a giant, white, rectangle leaning against the bed.

“What?” Namjoon breathed, stepping forward to run his hands over the slightly rough surface. It was a canvas, about three feet by six. 

“A couple of other tenets chipped in and they called me while I was waiting for you at the station. I told them they could drop it here,” Seokjin, offered, hanging back. He sounded nervous.

“Why?” Namjoon asked, turning back to face him.

Seokjin huffed and crossed his arms. “I told you: we think your art is gorgeous. We, I, want you to keep painting, but I don’t want you to end up in jail for it.”

“Seokjin…”

“I know it’s not the same as painting a wall. Not the same thrill. Maybe it’s not really graffiti anymore, but I was just thinking…”

Yeah, Seokjin was right. It wasn’t graffiti if Namjoon turned in a wall for canvas. But what was really important here? That little thrill he got from breaking the law? Or the canvas and Seokjin and his art and staying out of prison and all his neighbors who sided with a criminal and protected the piece of him on the wall like it was a piece of themselves?

“Thank you,” Namjoon rasped. There was no question. “I love it.” He smiled at Seokjin, chest full.

Seokjin stepped closer. “And, you know. I wouldn’t mind if you came over to work on it.”

Namjoon was about to pleasantly decrease the distance between them when Seokjin’s face lit up and he spun away. “One last thing!” He hauled a familiar bag up to the bed, flipping it open to reveal rows of shiny spray paint cans. “The Cho sisters found this and got it to me. I think everything’s accounted for!”

Namjoon crushed Seokjin into a hug, loving his surprised yelp. He didn’t care when the bag fell to the carpet with a thud. “I can’t ever thank you enough for this.”

Seokjin squeezed back just as hard. “Just come too see me and paint and we’ll call it even.”

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from [ tumblr ](http://punkrockmeluke.tumblr.com/post/122320263062/just-some-lil-au-ideas-to-keep-in-mind)


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